Fight
by adrictiv
Summary: Short drabble of a 'scene' after "I will never move on from you".


The only way I can deal with them right now is by writing. I needed to find/understand the reason why Michael ran after Nikita opened up to him. This is my take on it and for the first time it is not as happy-happy as I would like. (sorry I know we need fluffy right now but there is so much angst that I can't)

Depending on Mikita after 3x10 and your response to this story, there might be another chapter :)

ps. I own nothing.

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"So fight!"

He attacked. Throwing a left hook that was meant to meet her head.

If this is what she wanted, this is what she shall get.

This was a dance they've done countless times.

It brought them closer than anything else.

Ironic, being that the ultimate goal was beating one another until one came up top.

Still this was _their_ thing. Their dance.

Punches were thrown and avoided. Breaths were rushed as they tried to anticipate each others moves.

Over the years this had become second nature.

Flawless.

Sway. Block. Punch. Punch. Hook.

For a second, he thought she was giving him the upper hand.

She used combinations that he'd taught her when she was still in recruit sweats.

Slightly disappointed that even this had changed, he put an end to it.

In one swift move he swept her off her feet. Always careful not to crash her when he landed on top.

There they were again.

Michael and Nikita.

Faces within inches of each other. Panting. Breaths mingling.

She sat up abruptly closing the gap between them and caught his parted lips in hers.

He felt a pang of guilt shot through his entire body at the feel of her begging lips.

He'd pushed her so far away that he'd forgot the warmth that her lips gave him.

"You want to move on?" She said calmly. "I understand."

"But I will _never_ move on from you." Her hands were still soft against his face and her voice summoned all the honesty it could.

She was desperate to find her way back to him. To show him that they still could be the same.

Not the agents.

Not the stoic and professional assassins. But them,

Michael and Nikita.

The lovers. The companions. Friends. Other halves of a whole.

Nikita and Michael.

The pain was not lost in her voice. Her words reverberated in his ears. He could feel his pulse where her lips had been. He'd missed that feeling so much.

Electricity was shooting through his body. Adrenaline pumping through his veins. In her eyes he could still see hope. She was strong. She had faith.

_Faith._

In him. In them.

He was at lost of words.

What could he possibly give back to this woman.

He opened and close his mouth several times. Not knowing what to say.

There was no combination of words that would make up for what he was making her go through.

Nothing he could muttered could ever make their life the way it was before. Not so long ago.

Better times. Times where he was himself. The man she deserved.

There was no excuse for his behavior. Whether it was deliberate or not, he was hurting her.

He was spending so much time building walls to hide his misery that he didn't notice the toll it took on her.

Hatred began to fill his heart at the realization of who he was and what it was causing _her._

He was not the man she deserved. He was...

A coward.

Now this understanding was truly too much to handle. Against his better judgement he got up and left her heartbroken, again.

His left hand was gripping his hair forcefully while he made a run for it. Looking for a place were he wouldn't be disturbed. A place where he could hate himself at peace. Somewhere that will help him forget that he was the reason behind the tears of that beautiful woman. A place where he could find solitude.

That's all he needed. To be alone. Away from reality. Far away from this nightmare.

A nightmare.

This is what his life had become.

Worst part? He was the villain.

He had the princess willing to do anything for him but he was not the prince anymore.

He was the monster.

As soon as he got into his room he punched the wall with his real hand. Needing to feel the pain.

It did the job. It distracted him from his torturous thoughts.

He took a deep breath and composed himself.

He did what he does best. Taking all the pain in and locking it away.

Building higher walls.

Stronger walls.

It'll eventually get better he lied to himself.

"It won't be perfect but it'll be better".

He knew that much.

Did he though?

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Okay I took a completely different path on this one. Basically only thoughts and feelings but no dialogues. This is new for me so bare with me. Hoped you like it :)

Reviews are love :)

Adriana.


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